


horns like a devil

by BabaTunji



Series: MCU Ficlets [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 5+1 Things, Character Study, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-28 23:03:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17796428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabaTunji/pseuds/BabaTunji
Summary: 5 times Erik and Loki meet + one time they fight.





	horns like a devil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [minazukihatta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/minazukihatta/gifts).



> Prompt(s) from minazukihatta  
> "Erik and Loki would either get along with each other or kill each other. Either way, best villain brOTP, fight me."  
> AND  
> "Erik admires the art of violence. Meaning he's a massive fighting nerd who will stay up until 1 o'clock in the morning watching Black Widow fight compilations, critiques MMA videos, makes analysis's on fighting styles and has a top 10 list of people he would fight."
> 
> I translated these two prompts into a 5+1 flick where Erik and Loki meet pre-canon in different places. special thanks to agentmal for massaging my attempt at loki.

-:- One -:-

Loki picks a face that doesn’t quite fit in. At least not with the location he finds himself. He doesn’t do it intentionally. Doesn’t really notice till he enters an establishment and gets one too many looks his way. Amusingly from men who look as out of place as he does. Soldiers by the look of it. English speakers by the flow of conversation. The distinct accents mark them as Americans. However far from home Americans were always distinct. It almost makes him roll his eyes, the politics on Midgard is something he pays attention to when it benefits him in between spaces of time that marks these men’s entire lives.

Walking further into the din, he flags down the barkeep, and after a few minutes someone walks his way. He can see the bartender isn’t sure which language to use. The man whose face he had modeled tonight had only spoken Urdu. He greets the bartender in their native tongue of Japanese and watches the tension in their eyes relax some. Earning himself speedy service and some extra goodwill. While he waits he looks over the room’s occupants. There weren’t many locals, and the gathered group of soldiers seemed on their way to becoming much rowdier. His eyes settles on one of the soldiers. A senior officer, probably. Distinct in that he sat alone at a booth, where his compatriots sat together in scattered groups. Occasionally a group would get a little too loud then they would look sidelong to where the lone man sat.   


Yes, if he had to guess he would place the man as a senior officer, or an outcast. Judging from his looks in comparison to many of the other soldiers, it was probably both. The thought brings the bitterness from earlier in his day to the forefront of his thoughts.   
  
His drink arrives and he speaks a bit with the bartender. They appear ‘elderly’ to his eyes, but he wasn’t very good at judging Midgardians’ ages. Their conversation is interrupted by another patron, one of the soldiers rudely calling on the bartender. There were 2 other bartenders by the barkeep but the soldier ignores them to call on the bartender he apparently judged to be ‘free’. The bartender apologizes then leaves to attend to the rude patron. The interaction sours his mood even more. He didn’t really care about the bartender, but the warm exchange between them had been welcome tonight   
  
He nurses his drink for a while, contemplating his plans for the night. He hasn’t been in Midgard in some time, many of the people he associated with on his last visit were most likely dead. Time took on a different meaning in Asgard. The type of people he encountered remained the same however. The patron who had interrupted his conversation with the bartender has been looking his way for the past few minutes. It is irritating.   
  
He wonders what about his person has offended the soldier. Unsurprisingly the man comes up to talk to him not long after. He’s as witty as to be expected. Which is not at all. Perhaps on another night, he might have feigned ignorance. In this region of the world, many didn’t speak English enough to have any sort of decent conversation. But tonight he is irritated and angry at things that he cannot change. Insulting the soldiers’ intelligence is the least he can do. An ongoing game with himself.

The result is familiar. Unsophisticated, and pure in its vitriol. The humor being in his response rather than his understanding. This soldier didn’t quite understand his insults, but he recognized it to be insults. The flush in the soldiers cheeks and the tightening of his fists promises something that might take the edge off his own anger, a simple fight. He sees the first punch coming and pulls back easily, waiting for the next strike, when the soldier’s friends join the fray. It makes him excited till he realizes they’re restraining the soldier and not actually joining the fight. Their eyes, like some of the others an hour earlier, are on the man he now knows for certain is a superior officer.   
  
This man, he notes, is now watching them impassively. When the man’s gaze returns to his drinks, the soldier he had been gearing up to fight spits one more dull insult his way before allowing his friends to pull him away. The soldiers don’t stay much longer, and his appetite for violence yawns, he had wanted a fight. When the groups stand to leave, he watches them. They gradually withdraw, in staggered groups, until only a few loners were left, among them the superior officer that had interrupted their fight with his mere presence. Then a few minutes later, after paying for his drinks, and some words with the now concerned bartender from earlier, Loki leaves.   
  
The night air is comfortably cooler than the inside of the bar had been. He ambles in the direction of a hotel. He realizes fairly immediately he’s being followed and it makes him smile. When his stalker makes a move he reacts accordingly, going low to weave out of the way. The man has a blade, he is also the same soldier from the bar. He’s surprisingly alone. That part lowers Loki’s excitement again. This wasn’t fun. His attacker isn’t fast, or any sort of good fighter, telegraphing his moves in a manner that makes Loki not even bother attacking. He could simply move out of the way. When the soldier realizes his game he switches tactics.   
  
He concedes to actual retaliation and slams his own fist into the man's side, using the soldier’s momentum to pull him down. Despite his size he was stronger than the average Midgardian. Swiping the blade from him is easier after that. He doesn’t get a chance to use it because the panicking soldier attempts to buck him off, but succeeds only in knocking himself out. Loki grimaces mildly. What an unsatisfying exchange.

He gets up slowly. He had an audience. The superior officer from the bar had been watching. He had been close enough to interfere, but chosen not to. The officer’s expression is distinctly unconcerned, at least for his own subordinate or Loki. When he comes closer he ignores Loki entirely for his own subordinate. He sends a look Loki’s way before dragging the soldier up and away by his shoulders. 

-:- Two -:-

They’re on the tail end of an exhausting mission when it happens. Erik is working through mission reports and release forms when someone flags him down. One of the local police gangs had apparently gotten a tip off for another international presence. He almost says no. The threat isn’t enough to have a whole police squad going on a wild-goose chase. This would just be an excuse to blow of steam on whatever foreign mercenary was unlucky enough to be in the area. He allows it, with the caveat that he comes along.   
  
His addition seems to cool some of the fervor, but it’s still there. The group that had been so eager to deal with the mercenary weren’t operators, the usual CIA contractors. Just local law enforcement working with his deployment on the ongoing political situation. Their ‘hunt’ leads them past some deserted small towns to less habitable places mostly enveloped by surrounding jungle. The heat even late in the evening makes his under armor stick to his combat vest.   
  
Their target leaves a nice trail for them to follow. It sets Erik’s teeth on edge but he doesn’t voice his suspicion. Deciding it was probably a good idea he came along, if this was some sort of trap, he’d kill whoever set it. Once they sight their target he relaxes a bit. One lone mercenary wasn’t worth much. The police squad circles the mercenary's camp and he hangs back to watch the confrontation.   
  
This was shaping up to be a group beating. Good for morale, bad for whoever would be getting the beating. Except… that's not what happens.   
  
The first thing he senses once they engage is that the mercenary isn’t at all startled. Lending credence to his trap theory. The second is that despite being an 8 to 1 fight the mercenary outclassed every single law enforcement agent. It’s almost comical. From his vantage point he judges the mercenary was maybe 5’8 probably less, slight build, no real muscle, he wasn’t close enough to judge gender. But it didn’t seem to matter because they practically *weaved* around the law enforcement agents, leaving bone crunching injuries in their wake. It's almost like a dance. The agents can’t pull their guns fast enough but it's too late.   
  
Erik watches the scene with avid interest. He wants to fight this mercenary. He’s making to join the fray when the mercenary does a move he recognizes, redirecting a blade with only the slightest movement, essentially utilizing the agent’s momentum against him. The technique is impressive, like some of the martial arts movies he would watch as a kid. Except in real life, because the mercenary was apparently fast enough to not only read his opponents and react in that same space of time. It’s like the mercenary is psychic honestly or just super-human fast, sensing where and how the agents would move before it happened and twisting or turning accordingly.   
  
Could this mercenary have had the same teacher as that civilian from Okinawa? He doesn’t get to ask, or even fight the mercenary because they turn tail shortly after the last police agent goes down and stays down. He doesn’t have his usual heavy artillery on hand to take the mercenary down from a distance because he honestly hadn’t expected anything from this ‘hunt.’ He probably wouldn’t have used it anyway, it wasn’t everyday he met mercenaries with styles he didn’t recognize.   
  
Once he’s sure the mercenary is gone, he goes down to the group of police lying around the encampment. One of them is dead. The rest just look really beat up. He calls another police squad in to clean up then heads back to base to finish his reports. He doesn’t make a special report for the incident.

-:- Three -:-

Loki meets the officer from Okinawa for the third time on a yacht near Abu Dhabi. The man appears to recognize him, the face he’s in being the same one he wore in Okinawa those few years ago. From the edge to the man’s gaze, Loki guessed he was connecting him to their encounter in Brazil. Interesting. It wasn’t often Loki was recognized across faces when he didn’t actively intend it.

Stevens is here attached to one of the on board guest’s protection detail. They don’t talk after introductions but the man’s eyes follow him the few times he comes in contact with the guest Stevens is charged to protect. It arouses Loki’s curiosity. He’d done a bit of digging the last time they ‘met’ back in Brazil, and the man, ‘Stevens’ was not what he seemed. Never mind his casual disregard for Loki and his own subordinates, the chances of him seeing Loki not once but three times and *recognizing* him? It spoke of secrets, among other things.   
  
He himself had been invited onto the super yacht by an acquaintance, a friend of convenience if you will, and then left to his own devices. Despite this new coincidental meeting, Loki continues as he had before. His connection with his affluent friend guarantees him the best of everything and he enjoys being waited on hand and foot. Eventually, after watching all sorts of extravagant activities at the on-board casino, he’s encouraged to participate himself.   
  
It starts well, but he is maybe a bit too relaxed. Wins a bit too many times. He’s not *actually* cheating, but centuries of sleight of hand, and a preternatural understanding of others, lent itself to some impressive gambling skills. He doesn’t think much of it when the manager that had invited him to participate pulls him away for a word. When the man accuses him of cheating he’s not even phased invoking the clout of his patron friend.   
  
This, however, does not have the desired effect because he had just won a significant amount from the other patrons aboard the super yacht and his patron had in fact been called away on business, just that morning. Also the management seemed to have convinced themselves he couldn’t really be affiliated with his patron, or at least the man wouldn’t want to be acquainted to him if he knew Loki was a cheat.

Unfortunate.   
  
They threaten him with bodily harm before a situation on the deck level of the ship forces their attention away but not before they throw him into a walk-in freezer. The whole incident takes maybe 15 minutes, leaving him very little time to maneuver himself off the yacht and away before it was cut off abruptly. The rules of his own personal game complicates what could have been an easy escape. There were rules of course, when Asgardians traveled to places like Midgard. Those he followed if he felt like. But then there were the ones he put on himself, involving mortal deniability, his continuity of selves and the use of magic, especially after someone recognized him. It made his time more interesting. Why use magic when his words and wiles worked just as well? Till it didn’t.   


There were cameras outside of the freezer space, and whatever was happening on the yacht's deck would eventually be dealt with. The manager and security who had thrown him in here would certainly check such footage if the returned to an empty freezer. A dead body was discarded and forgotten, but a missing one prompted mystery and attention. If he whisked himself away now, it would permanently “burn” this persona in these circles, circles which afforded him ample luxury relative to Midgardian standards, which was nice for when a mood for such took him. Thus, though boring and even mildly uncomfortable, he resigns himself to waiting the situation out.

Twenty minutes into his stay in the freezer and his discomfort has risen. He shifts from the face he’s been using for most of his stay and into his Jotun form. Once changed the cold feels much more bearable. The time stretches from minutes to hours and he waits for the management to come get his ‘dead’ body. He still feels cold and now he’s tired. To the point of falling asleep. He rationalizes that once he hears someone unlocking the heavy freezer door he would shift back.   
  
What happens instead is different. Because the person that opens the door is more quiet about it than he expects. When he realizes the door is open he also realizes the person that opened it is none other than Erik Stevens.   
  
“Wha-” The shock and confusion is evident and Loki knows what he looks like to the man’s eyes. Blue skinned and red eyed. He shifts back into his current human face but he knows it’s too late. Stevens had stared at his Jotun form for at least 3 seconds. He stands up, shakily moving for the door. Stevens doesn’t stop him. Then he’s breathing in blessedly warmer air outside of the freezer. Had Stevens been tracking his movements since they spotted each other on this ship? He wonders what sort of curiosity drew the man from his assigned guest to come find him.   
  
“What the fuck are you?” Stevens voice is perfectly level but there's an edge that makes Loki prickle. 

When he answers, he makes sure he's out of view of any cameras. He speaks in a language he knows Stevens will understand twice over: for the meaning of the words and for the implied secrecy in using them. “Awuboni nto, umntwana.”  _ You saw nothing, child.  _ Then he gives the man a saucy smirk before he winks away.


End file.
